


What I do for you, I do for me.

by thehomodabrothers (orphan_account)



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Barely Legal, Incest, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:57:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5061961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thehomodabrothers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s sad that he knows what his little brother sounds like when he’s faking sexual pleasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What I do for you, I do for me.

**Author's Note:**

> by thehomodabrothers.

 

  
This one’s probably nameless.

Oh, Tadashi knows the routine, knows about how much his little brother likes his little game of hunt. He’s not blind. It’s really not difficult to notice an extra person in the apartment, especially when Hiro makes no real attempt at keeping them a secret. And it’s a different one each time, too. Tadashi’s doesn’t even bother asking anymore, just goes about his business and makes his breakfast and lets the stranger find their way to the door, never to be seen again. Hiro never says anything about it. Just saunters out half-dressed a few hours later, with the most self-satisfied expression Tadashi’s ever seen. It’s infuriating.

And Jesus, this one is _loud._ A man, sounds like, grunting like some sort of animal being slowly skewered to death. They should have got soundproof walls. Tadashi’s only just come home from work. He is tense and exhausted and he has no interest in being subjected to whatever freaky contortions his baby brother is performing just behind that wood bedroom door.

He slams the front door shut extra loud, hoping that this one will have the presence of mind to just _shut the fuck up,_ but the brief silence that comes from his interruption is immediately filled by a much higher voice. Hiro’s. Needy and theatrical and _fake._ Tadashi grumbles to himself and goes about making himself a mug of tea, banging as many dishes as he can get his hands on. It’s sad that he knows what his little brother sounds like when he’s faking sexual pleasure.

And oh, boy, is Hiro faking it. _Ooh, yes, please, right there, I’m yours, take me._ Tadashi snorts. The day Hiro talks like that is the day pigs fly. The pretty words falling from his lips are only sweet nothings, because the little brother he grew up with does not like to _give._ He takes, and takes, and gives no thought at all to the person he’s taking from, and Tadashi would bet his left hand that Hiro in bed is the same as Hiro everywhere else. That is to say, _selfish._

His fingernails dig into the wood of the kitchen counter. The creaking of Hiro’s bed is rhythmic and loud, and Tadashi’s other hand tightens around his mug of steeping tea. Their apartment isn’t big, so the sound carries. On a normal day, he’d like to put his feet up in the hall and listen to the sounds of the city, but that’s not an option today. Today he’s treated to groans and sweet murmurs, and the image of his little brother bent over and being ravished by a man possibly twice his size.

He could imagine exactly what they’re doing in there, if he tried. But he doesn’t have to, because Hiro’s taken it upon himself to describe exactly what he wants done to him in vivid, sordid detail. The way he always does when he has someone over. The way he always does, Tadashi suspects, when he knows he’s not alone.

The tie around his neck feels like a noose. Tadashi shuts his eyes and loosens it with one hand, the other lifting his tea to his lips so he can have the first taste. It’s almost scalding, and bitter, and he darts his tongue out to catch a stray drop before it threatens to make its way down his chin. The pace from Hiro’s bedroom has slowed down somewhat. Mattress springs now sing slow and deep, and Hiro’s noises quieten down into something guttural and drawn-out.

He’s being fucked with measured strokes, then. He’s on the bottom, there’s no doubt, because he’s _always_ on the bottom. Tadashi can tell from the way Hiro walks the next morning, movements languid and deliberate as he lounges around in his underwear and one of Tadashi’s old shirts. Once in a while he’ll stretch, and Tadashi’s gaze will be drawn to the tiny bites around his neck, or to the scratches on his back, or to the almost-imperceptible bruises on his hips, shaped like fingerprints from hands much larger than Hiro’s own.

He couldn’t look away if he tried. Hiro after sex is insufferably touchy, rubbing up against Tadashi and planting his feet in his lap and draping himself over Tadashi’s back until Tadashi snaps at him to go take a shower. He does it on purpose. Tadashi knows he does it on purpose, because he knows his brother, and his brother is a willful, manipulative brat. He tortures Tadashi because he can. Because he _wants_ something, probably, although Tadashi doesn’t like to think what.

He always gives in to what Hiro wants, anyway. Better to pretend that this time he doesn’t understand.

He puts down his tea. It’s too hot to drink right now, especially when the buttons of his white dress shirt feel like they’re constricting him. He undoes his collar, and then the next two buttons for good measure. The fabric falls a little looser on his chest. Hiro’s partner is saying something about how good Hiro looks, how much he must like being caressed while he’s fucked. Tadashi begs to differ. Hiro has little patience with niceties. _You’re better off letting him do what he wants. Better yet, just gag the little fucker and give him everything you’ve got. He’s a lot more pleasant when he’s not running his mouth._

This is really too much. Tadashi is nice, but even he’s not nice enough to take this with good grace. Not after months upon months of Hiro’s deliberate promiscuity -- well. Not really. Tadashi could care less what his little brother decides to do with his spare time, he’d just prefer not to have to listen in on it. He’d rather not have to lie alone in his bed, listening to Hiro’s voice crack with the pressure of an incoming orgasm. He’d rather not have to sit on the couch and watch as Hiro comes out of the shower, a towel low around his waist and little drops of water running slowly down his spine. He’d rather not have to look at Hiro and think about all the people who must have touched him in all the places _Tadashi’s_ never been able to.

They don’t know what they’re doing. None of them know Hiro as well as he does, after all. If there’s anyone on earth who’s good at giving Hiro what he wants, it’s Tadashi.

He goes to the cupboard. He’s probably going to need something a little stronger than tea to survive the night, seeing as Hiro shows no signs of wanting to stop any time soon. There’s a bottle of whiskey sitting in the back of the cabinet. Almost untouched; it’d been some expensive gift from his boss, ignored by Hiro because Hiro likes his alcohol sweet. This will do. He’s a little heavy-handed with how much he pours, but he’s glad for the burn once he lifts the glass to his mouth. It stings him all the way down. His lips taste like smoke.

Enough of this. He’d normally just let it slide, but he’s tired and angry and Hiro is _loud._ He downs his whiskey and pads barefoot to Hiro’s door. He’s going to knock. Civilly, and politely, and he’s going to ask his brother to _please, please keep the noise down._

The light from Hiro’s bedroom casts a sliver of white onto Tadashi’s face as he stands in the dim hallway. He suddenly understands why everything seems so loud. Hiro hadn’t even thought to _shut the door_ properly in his excitement, and Tadashi sighs as his fist closes around the handle. He doesn’t have to knock. He can just quietly shut the door and go off to sleep in his own room.

But Hiro’s never left the door unlocked before. And it would be easy, _so easy_ to yank it open right now, to catch his little brother in the act and tell whatever idiot he’s with to get out of his apartment and leave them both alone. Hiro would be furious, of course, but Tadashi would have _won._ He would’ve left Hiro frustrated for the night just like Tadashi’d been all the other times. And Hiro would be completely awful to him the next day, no doubt, but this little victory would be worth it.

He’s not…entirely sure why he looks away from the doorknob. Morbid curiosity, maybe, or maybe because Hiro suddenly makes a particularly interesting sound. But, standing there in the dark, Tadashi realises pretty abruptly that Hiro’s bed is right in front of his door, and Tadashi can see quite a bit through that secret little gap he’s looking through.

He can see Hiro. On top, right now, bent over to kiss his partner as he’s bounced helplessly up and down. Strange fingers twisted in his hair and bare shoulders littered with love bites, ass towards the headboard and knees braced on either side of his partner’s hips for balance.

Hiro’s done well for himself tonight, Tadashi observes flatly. The man he’s picked seems attractive, all dark skin and wavy hair and powerful thighs and shoulders. The rest of him is probably muscular too, not that Tadashi can see with the guy flat on his back. Looking at him now, it’s easy to imagine him picking Hiro up and pinning him like he’d said he would. And he’s packing something formidable between his legs, if Hiro’s incessant crying out is anything to go by.

The bedsprings continue to creak. Tadashi watches Hiro’s back arch; he’s got pretty skin, all creamy and smooth, and he mewls as he tilts his head back for his neck to be kissed. Tadashi can see his face now, instead of just the top of his head. He’d never known his brother could flush quite like that. He looks good. Lips kiss-swollen and eyes half-lidded with soft lashes, hair askew and teeth catching his lower lip.

Tadashi feels a sudden, intense flash of irritation. He’d basically raised Hiro since their parents died, and he’s only seeing him like this _now?_

He studies his baby brother’s face carefully. The alcohol’s starting to get to him, maybe, because it feels like he didn’t quite take care of enough buttons just now. Hiro looks rather more comfortable the way he is. Stark naked and keening. Back arched so high it looks like his spine will snap. Putting on a show for the sake of the shmuck beneath him, and Tadashi sighs at thought that the poor idiot will probably never know what Hiro’s _really_ like.

 

Hiro’s eyes flutter open. Tadashi’s stomach drops into ice water.

 

They stare at each other, Tadashi with one hand still on the doorknob and Hiro with another man ploughing into him. Tadashi feels the blood drain from his face; his little brother knows he’s standing in the doorway like a creep, watching him fuck, and his surprise is evident in those wide, unblinking eyes Hiro is giving him. Dumbly, Tadashi tears his gaze away to look at the door. He should close it. Shut it tight, go back to his room, beg forgiveness in the morning and then forget this ever happened. 

But Hiro’s surprise is melting away into something warmer. Slowly, the corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk, and his eyebrows lower into an expression slightly more predatory. Smug, like Tadashi’s used to seeing, the same face Hiro wears when he comes home at night, smelling of smoke with a robot in his hand and a wad of cash in his back pocket.

Deliberately, and achingly slowly, Hiro pulls away from his lover’s mouth and straightens up. Puts his body on display. This time, for Tadashi to see.

And it only takes a moment’s pause before Tadashi accepts the invitation. His gaze rakes down Hiro’s body almost hesitantly, reverently. Pale skin from the shoulders down, nearly translucent because it’s always protected from the sun. Hiro’s nipples are pert, like they’ve been mouthed at with vigour, and Tadashi bites his lip involuntarily. His ribs are stark even though Hiro’s broadened somewhat from his high school days; Hiro’s figure is slender and lean, whatever strength he has wiry, pliable rather than brutally forceful. His stomach is almost childlike in its flatness, although Tadashi could never mistake his little brother for a child. Not with the soft trail of hair running from his navel to that pretty pink cock of his.

It bobs as he grinds his hips. “ _Big,”_ Hiro sighs, and Tadashi tears his gaze from between his brother’s legs to look at his face instead. Hiro’s not looking right at him. Tadashi follows his line of vision to the crotch of his own pants.

 _Fuck._ He’s hard. Hadn’t even noticed because he was putting all his attention on Hiro, but he can clearly see his own outline straining through the material of his slacks, thick and throbbing as he’s constrained by his underwear. He chances a glance back up.

Hiro’s watching him intently, tongue darting out to run over his lower lip. His hands have left the schmuck’s shoulders to roam around his own chest instead, tweaking a nipple here and tracing the sharp lines of his hips there. Tadashi maps each idle path with the unfaltering concentration of a man staring down the barrel of a loaded gun. The schmuck doesn’t notice a thing.

“Want you,” Hiro says, voice syrupy and thick with sex. The man in his bed hums in appreciation, but Hiro barely spares him a glance before he’s looking back at Tadashi. “So _bad._ Been waiting for you for so long. And you want me too, don’t you? I want you to give me everything.”

“Yes,” groans the stranger under him, and Tadashi nods along unthinkingly. Hiro smiles, lazy and wide like some unholy jungle cat. Arching his back a little prettier, he licks the palm of his right hand and wraps it around his own shaft, giving himself a slow, deliberate pump.

“Go on. You know you want to. _I_ want you to. You can have me. Indulge.”

Tadashi does as he’s told. With very little protest, because he _always_ gives in to what Hiro wants. Painfully slowly, he undoes the button of his pants and eases the zipper down by tiny little increments, careful not to make a sound even though the noise from Hiro’s bedroom would probably be loud enough to drown him out anyway. Freedom comes as sweet relief. Their apartment, although heated, feels like a breath of cool air against his own skin.

And Hiro, well, Hiro looks positively _delighted_ when Tadashi takes himself in hand. Tadashi glances from his cock to his brother, not entirely sure what to do; does he really want this? There’s hardly any going back, beyond this point. And whatever said and done, Tadashi is standing outside Hiro’s bedroom, a voyeur instead of a participant.

But Hiro doesn’t seem to care. He’s craning his neck to see, rubbing himself more eagerly, continuing the quick grind of his hips in time with the upward thrusts of the man lying under him. Tadashi releases his length so that Hiro can look. It’s only fair, although he does gently squeeze his fingers around himself after only a moment, prompting a soft whine of frustration from Hiro as he hides himself from view.

“That’s it, just like that,” Hiro croons from his perch, fisting his cock with delicate movements. Tadashi leans against the doorframe and chews on his lower lip. He pumps himself a couple more times under Hiro’s half lidded gaze, eyes focused on the way Hiro’s fingers dance over his shaft. Quick and teasing, barely grazing over one place before he’s dragging his fingertips somewhere else. The schmuck reaches up to help, at one point, but Hiro smacks his hand playfully away. Tadashi sighs softly in appreciation. Hiro’s much prettier on his own, even if he is in the middle of riding another man’s dick.

Too hot. Too hot and too many clothes, although Tadashi’s got enough sense in him still not to strip naked in the hallway. He kind of regrets the whiskey. It feels like it’s burning the insides of his stomach, sending liquid fire all through the rest of him, contaminating his blood vessels and bringing a light sheen of sweat to his skin. He wonders if he’s flushing. Hiro is, still, his skin a little pinker than normal, all the way from his face to his chest to the surprisingly sizeable work of art between his legs. Tadashi feels a slight twinge of jealousy. He’d rather like to go in there and throw the schmuck out, because it’s kind of criminal that Tadashi can look but can’t touch.

But that might change in future. Might, might not, who knows. They’ve taken a flying leap across the line of what’s appropriate for a pair of siblings, although Tadashi’s physically incapable of considering the consequences of that right now. Beyond the sad realization that he’s never going to be able to forget this, of course. He’s never going to be able to lie alone in his bedroom at night without remembering what it feels like to touch himself in front of Hiro like this, never going to be able to look at Hiro without knowing exactly what he looks like under his clothes when he’s aroused and needy. Never going to be able to come within touching distance of Hiro without wanting to touch him _everywhere._

He has to bite back a groan when Hiro runs a hand through his own hair, thick black locks tumbling through his fingers and falling askew, making him look windswept and fucked-out and _young._ Young and sweet, and not in any way innocent, but willing and malleable and very, very close to coming undone. He’s whimpering into the oppressive heat of the room, hips rolling faster and hand pumping harder, eyes locked on Tadashi as his back arches and his toes curl. Tadashi stamps down the desire to run to his little brother and gather him into his arms. He’ll have to stay on the sidelines for now.

But he couldn’t stop touching himself now if he tried. His cock is hard and weeping into his fist, precum coating the palm of his hand with slick and making it easier to rotate his wrist and flick his thumb across his head, pad of his finger digging a little into the slit so _deliciously_ that he has to clamp his free hand over his mouth to keep silent. His train of thought is helplessly coming derailed, brain jumping between half-formed revelations of _this feels amazing_ and _god, I’m filthy_ and _I want to go in there and put my mouth on him and I want to make him come._

 _Brat,_ comes right after, as Tadashi’s watching Hiro whine and mewl and start to tilt his head back so his body looks like a dainty crescent. _Selfish, greedy brat._ Tadashi eyes the unmarked column of his neck and feels his teeth clench with the urge to bite down, fingers twitching against his face as he thinks about forcing Hiro’s jaw open and ramming his cock down his baby brother’s throat. Hiro would deserve it. He’d deserve it and he’d probably _enjoy_ it, because it would mean that Tadashi has finally broken, has finally given in to what Hiro’s been trying to get from him ever since he turned eighteen. All the barely-concealed glances, the brushes of bare skin against Tadashi’s, the whispers in his ear, the parading around half-naked. The raw delight whenever Tadashi starts to feel uncomfortable in his own skin, the deliberate attempts to make Tadashi know _exactly_ how Hiro likes his sex. Tadashi could wreck Hiro, if he wanted. He could ravage Hiro so completely that the boy would never look at another person again.

But he won’t. He won’t, because he _loves_ the little bastard, and he knows how it would realistically play out. Tadashi on his back, whispering sweet words, letting Hiro do exactly what he wants. Because Tadashi always gives him what he wants. Even when what he wants is to hear the very last threads of Tadashi’s self-control to snap.

He’s starting to get light-headed. Hiro’s damn near screaming, now, voice raw and cracking and more genuine that Tadashi’s ever heard it. He’s desperate. Desperate and close and Tadashi almost feels transfixed when gorgeous ribbons of bitter white _finally_ come spurting out of Hiro’s cock, getting onto himself and his partner and the sheets. Hiro, amazingly, keeps on going, cock still erect and slick in his hand as he bounces in his partner’s lap, fingers tangling in the sheets until he climaxes a second time, whole body shuddering and voice giving out and muscles tensing and mouth falling open in the sweetest wail Tadashi’s ever heard. All in the span of a couple of minutes.

It would take less than this to break a man. And break Tadashi does, biting into the skin between his thumb and pointer finger as all the heat coursing through him condenses into a single point and comes rushing out all over his hand. It’s explosive and pent-up and _surreal,_ electricity buzzing from fingers to toes and back again, his vision going a little hazy around the edges and throat constricting with the effort of not making a sound. He collapses noiselessly against the doorframe. His head is swimming and he’s breathing heavy, and something warm and wet drips from his fingers to the carpet.

Hiro seems to have gone limp, body sluggish and expression pleasantly exhausted when they make eye contact again. Tadashi feels himself opening his mouth; there’s a pressing need to say _something,_ even if he has to mouth it out, but the man in Hiro’s bed takes the opportunity to gently roll him over and onto his back. Tadashi’s mouth snaps shut. Backing away, he withdraws into the safety of the hall, bare feet quiet against plush cream carpet as he stumbles back to his room and locks the door.

His bones feel like jell-o. Warmth still coursing through his muscles and making everything hyper-sensitive, he collapses onto the edge of his bed, panting through his nose and letting sweat collect at his temples. A pause, and then he tugs his shirt off without unbuttoning it the rest of the way, slacks and underwear coming off too before he’s falling backwards onto the sheets. His chest rises and falls rhythmically. No voices come from the bedroom next to his.

He shuts his eyes and sighs. Gradually his heartbeat starts to slow, breath the only sound in his room, and he listens to the darkness and thinks about his brother doing the same.

 

Eventually Hiro’s bed stops squeaking altogether, and there’s blessed silence for a while, although it’s a little late to be enjoying it now. Hiro’s door creaks open and footsteps thud up the hall. The front door opens and then shuts for the last time that night.

No warm body joins Tadashi’s beneath the covers.

 

Tadashi rolls over and buries his face in the pillow. Outside, his mug of tea sits forgotten on the counter, left to steep until it goes cold and black.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted from tumblr because porn


End file.
